


i get this feeling like it could all happen

by jarpadsalecki



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Christmas, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I suppose, M/M, Oops and Hi, Porn, and it's set in america but they also use british slang idk, but he speaks perfect english idk there's an explanation, how do you whisk, kind of, louis is the foreign exchange student from france, this is a messy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarpadsalecki/pseuds/jarpadsalecki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He opens the door and decides that his bed (and the dream he was having about Nick Grimshaw) will have to wait, because there’s his RA, Cher, with a hand on her hip looking particularly impatient with Harry (as she does). But standing beside Cher is the most gorgeous boy in probably the whole world. Sharp cheekbones and dainty hands and blue eyes and Harry is definitely awake now. He stands there for a second, eyes probably bugging out of his head as he glances between Cher and the boy and wonders if he’s still dreaming. He’s pretty sure he’s seen a porno open this way."</p>
<p>or: Louis is the new foreign exchange student from France. Harry is assigned to be his tour guide. It ends up being a lot more than he signed up for (or didn't sign up for, actually).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i get this feeling like it could all happen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrily/gifts).



> okay so this is for the H/L winter exchange....obviously this is really late and i'm sure there was already another work submitted BUT i vowed to finish this and finish it i did. 
> 
> so, much love to harrily for being infinitely patient about this even though by now it's probably been forgotten. anyway.
> 
> the prompt was: student exchange au where louis is a transfer student from france and harry is the one responsible to guide him around and 'blend in'
> 
> i will say i took liberties with this. for instance yes, louis is french but he speaks english pretty well and there honestly isn't much reference to him being french throughout (it's explained in the story). i know nothing about the french language and i didn't trust google translate enough to help me out, so there we go. this fic mostly revolves around harry and louis's relationship.
> 
> that being said i hope you enjoy ((:
> 
> title is from "West Coast" by Lana Del Rey
> 
> ps love to ana for always reading stuff before i post it to make sure it's not shit  
> pps this is my first time writing porn so here goes  
> ppps also i know nothing about bakeries either. we'll just pretend for the sake of AU that bakers can just leave ovens on timers and they just magically stop when the timer goes off. who knows, maybe that exists, i don't know.

Harry doesn’t know what time it is when he hears a loud knocking on his door. Consistent, assertive raps that let him know that whoever it is isn’t going away anytime soon. Harry slithers out of his warm, cozy bed and immediately stubs his toe on the refrigerator. Hopping on one foot, he decides that if he opens the door and nothing’s on fire, he’s slamming it and going back to bed.

He opens the door and decides that his bed (and the dream he was having about Nick Grimshaw) will have to wait, because there’s his RA, Cher, with a hand on her hip looking particularly impatient with Harry (as she does). But standing _beside_ Cher is the most gorgeous boy in probably the whole world. Sharp cheekbones and dainty hands and blue eyes and Harry is definitely awake now. He stands there for a second, eyes probably bugging out of his head as he glances between Cher and the boy and wonders if he’s still dreaming. He’s pretty sure he’s seen a porno open this way.

The boy, clearly seeing that Harry is an actual idiot on legs who was rudely woken from a deep slumber, glances sidelong at Cher and mutters, “Oops.”

“Hi,” Harry finally manages to say, though it mostly sounds like a long exhale of breath. Morning breath, he realizes, and promptly shuts his mouth again.

“Rise and shine, Harry,” Cher says flatly, eyes almost rolling back into her head. With that attitude, Harry sure doesn’t _feel_ like rising and shining.

Harry starts to say as much, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a yawn. Okay, maybe not _that_ awake. “What time is it?” he asks instead.

Cher checks her watch. “Half past noon,” she quips.

Yikes. “Um, good morning,” he says groggily.

Cher’s smile is clearly more forced than not, but Harry can see a hint of amusement behind it. No doubt in forty-five minutes he’ll have her petting his hair, cooing about how sorry she is that she woke him up so rudely. “Harry,” she says. “This is Louis.”

Harry looks again at the boy standing beside Cher. He’s fixing his fringe with one hand and adjusting the bag on his shoulder with the other. “Hi,” Harry repeats himself. The boy (Louis) nods in acknowledgement.

A few moments of silence pass, where Harry looks from Louis to Cher and is generally confused. Finally, Cher gives an exasperated sigh. “Harry, don’t you remember me telling you about the student exchange program that _Louis_ is a part of?”

“Um...” He doesn’t, really. “Sure.”

Cher quirks an eyebrow. “Remember when I told you that Louis would be coming to school here for the year while Niall is in Ireland?” Harry doesn’t respond, so she continues. “And moving in with Nick down the hall?” Still no response. “And you were assigned to be his...” she searches for the right word. “Tour guide, shall we say?”

He furrows his brow. Harry wouldn’t say he was very involved with student-led activities on campus, but he definitely doesn’t remember signing up for _that_. “Oh. Okay, um...yeah.”

Cher looks like she just about wants to kill him, and Harry’ll have to turn that forty-five minutes into an hour because they probably don’t pay Cher enough for this. “Right, well, here you go,”  she pats Louis on the back and turns to go.

“Um...” Harry says after her, with no response. “Um?!” he says a bit louder. She says nothing except withdraws into her room and shuts the door.

Cher clearly assumed that there wouldn’t be any awkwardness at all, some stranger being dropped off at another stranger’s room in the middle of the day, and she didn’t exactly leave them any icebreakers.

Harry looks at Louis. Louis looks back.

“Okay, well...come on in?” Harry tries.

“Thanks,” Louis says, breezing past Harry into the room. He plops his duffel bag on the empty bed, glancing around the room, clearly appraising it.

Harry follows him and puts his hands in his pockets, following Louis’s eyes and suddenly feeling self-conscious about his Arctic Monkeys poster, and his hook where he hangs all his headbands, and his bunch of bananas sitting on top of the microwave. “Um, so...” he decides to say. “Where’re you from?”

“France,” Louis replies, sitting down on the bed and dropping his duffel bag somewhere beside him.  

“Oh!” Harry squeaks. “That’s really cool!” He has a thought, but Louis interrupts it.

“Why’s this bed empty?” he asks, glancing down at where he put his bag down.

“What? Oh.” Harry gives a tiny sigh. “My roommate Niall is studying abroad in Ireland this year. Kinda like you, actually, I guess. Um, so it’s just me right now.”

Louis hums. “Interesting.”

Harry remembers his thought from earlier. “Wait, if you’re from France, why is your accent so...”

“Not?” Louis supplies.

Harry nods, then mentally kicks himself. _You can’t just ask people why they don’t have an accent, Harry._

Louis is smiling a little, though. “My dad is from America, but my mum is from France. They met on a backpacking trip one summer, so they moved there to be with her family after they got married. I spoke a ton of French growing up, still do of course, but we mostly speak English around the house.”

“Say something in French,” Harry immediately says, then wishes he could fit his whole foot inside his mouth.

But Louis, without skipping a beat, releases an intrigued snort and lets out a string of words from his mouth, syllables and twists of the tongue that Harry understands exactly none of.

“Cool,” Harry says. “What’s that mean?”

Louis smirks. “Doesn’t matter.”

Harry doesn’t get it, but he finds himself smiling back anyway. He has a feeling that he might like Louis.

“You know, I can say exactly one sentence in French,” Harry points out with a grin. He’s already embarrassed himself enough, but why not?

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Harry nods, then says, “ _Je suis allé au cinéma avec mon copain et ma famille_.”

Louis stares at him for a second, blinks once, and then cracks up laughing. “That...” he says breathlessly, “...was pitiful. I might like you.”

Harry beams, and is about to say something else, probably about he used to take French in middle school and was obviously awful at it, but then Cher’s voice rings down the hall. “Harry, don’t you have a class today?”

Harry checks his desk clock. He does, in ten minutes.

“Oh, shit!” Harry yelps, beginning to scurry around the room to gather his things. “Fuck!” he hurriedly shoves a few books in his backpack, hoping one of them is the one for whichever class he’s gonna be late for. He finds a random pair of skinny jeans on the floor and desperately pulls them on as fast as he can, chanting. “Fuck. fuck, fuck...”

Louis watches all this from his perch on the bed with an amused smirk on his face. Harry is almost out the door when he notices him again. “Oh! Louis, I’m sorry, I would’ve helped you get settled, I just...”

Louis waves a hand and stands. “No, no, it’s fine. Go, have a good class. I have to unpack anyway.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs, still feeling bad for leaving Louis all by himself. Or rather, all by himself with his new roommate Nick Grimshaw. That’s something else to process.  “Thanks.” He lets Louis pass him before closing and locking the door and totally not checking out Louis’s ass in the process. Which, Christ.

“Well, bye!” he chirps, practically sprinting down the hall and down the stairs without looking back, during which he is painfully aware of what his own ass must look like. Glorious, he hopes, but Harry doesn’t consider himself a very particularly lucky person today.

 

\--

Despite how memorable the morning was, Harry found himself forgetting about Louis a few times during his one class of the day (it turned out to be anthropology). Then he would drift off into his thoughts and think, _Can’t wait to go back to my room and take these jeans off and eat some easy mac...maybe catch up on Project Runway ...and then, oh, shit! I have to show the new kid around, and he’s from France, and he’s gorgeous, and his name is Louis._

Harry doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to show to Louis. Like, _hello, here’s our dining hall, the food is shitty...this is the library, yes, books...don’t leave your laundry sitting in the machine too long or someone’ll put it in the dryer and then all your sweaters will shrink...okay, good luck?!_ Louis wouldn’t last a semester at that rate, let alone the year. Then again, that’s pretty much how Harry lives, and he’s doing just fine, right?

Before he can have a crisis in the middle of the lecture hall, class is dismissed early and Harry heads back to his dorm. He drops his stuff off in his room and takes a big breath. This is not a big deal, he tells himself. _You’re just gonna show this kid around campus and answer any questions he has and see him around and be done with it._ It’s not a big deal. It’s not.

He treks down the hall and knocks on the last door on the left, which has Nick’s name tag on it and now Louis’s. He nervously fixes his hair without noticing at first, and when he does notice he practically slaps his own hand away. What is _wrong_ with him?

Then Louis opens the door blinking like a sleepy kitten and Harry remembers that, oh yeah, Louis is probably an angel.

Louis scratches his head sleepily, fixing his hair a little as he casually leans his hip against the doorframe (sigh). “Hi,” he yawns at Harry.

“Hi.” Harry bites his lip. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Louis nods groggily.

Well, shit. Guiltily, Harry’s hand finds his way back to his hair. “Oh, I’m...sorry, uh--”

Louis waves a hand dismissively at him, perking up a little. “Don’t be, I didn’t even mean to fall asleep. It’s just that I unpacked all my things and didn’t know what else to do, honestly.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Sorry again, about that. I totally forgot about that class, and--”

“It’s fine!” Louis laughs, seeming genuine. “Seriously, no big deal.”

“Okay, cool.” Harry grins. “So, uh...”

“Do you want to come in?” Louis asks, opening the door wider.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Harry squeaks, tentatively following Louis into the room.

Harry takes a moment to look around the room at what Louis’s set up. Nick’s side of the room is messy in an organized way, if that’s how to put it, with lots of colors and papers scattered haphazardly on the desk and a BBC Radio 1 poster above his bed. Louis’s side is decidedly quieter. There’s _three_ David Beckham posters above the desk, blue sheets on his bed, a couple of small framed pictures on the desk with his laptop, some clothes hanging in the closet, and a little French flag sitting in the windowsill.

“Is this all the stuff you brought from home?” Harry asks, frowning. It doesn’t look like much compared to the mess on Nick’s side of the room.

Louis shakes his head, then gestures for Harry to sit on his bed while Louis takes a seat at the desk. “The rest of it is being sent over. I don’t have _that_ much more stuff, but there’s only so much you can fit inside a, uh...the bag you carry on the plane with you.” He gestures to the same duffle bag he was carrying earlier, now living under the bed.

“A carry-on,” Harry corrects him with a giggle.

Louis shoots him an amused glare. “Sorry, a _carry-on_. In French it’s _bagage à main_.”

“Begage ah ma...” Harry tries echoing, then just shakes his head before Louis can start laughing at him. “Don’t be sorry, mate. If I didn’t talk so slow I’d probably mess up every other word in my own language. So.”

Louis smirks at that, eyes crinkling around the edges. “I don’t really have a hard time believing that, actually.”

“Heeeey,” Harry whines, half-heartedly trying to toss a pillow at Louis’s head. Louis just laughs harder at that.

“Yeah, well, anyway. Carry-ons don’t fit much,” Louis chuckles.

Harry hums in agreement as he glances around the room again. “There’s only so many David Beckham posters one can fit in any given carry-on,” he muses.

Louis gasps and takes the pillow up from where it had landed by his feet and chucks it hard at Harry’s head. He does not miss. “I’ll have you know that David Beckham is a legend and a god, thank you very much!” Louis says triumphantly.

Harry giggles, squeezing the pillow in his lap as he appraises the posters above Louis’s head again. He wrinkles his nose. “He’s old,” he says.

Louis gasps again presses a hand to his chest in fake shock. “How _dare_ you say that about my one true love!” he squeaks, adding an extra gasp for good measure.

(Oh. Well, then. That answers some of Harry’s questions.)

“Victoria,” he points out without missing a beat.

“Please,” Louis snorts, pursing his lips. He seems pleased with how quickly Harry spit that out. “That one’s got nothing on me.”

(He has _something_ right, at least.)

Harry lets out a giggle before saying, “Gonna show him how to _really_ bend it like Beckham, then?”

For a second he isn’t sure if he’s crossed a line or something, but then Louis bursts into laughter, throwing an arm over his face as he shakes. That gets Harry laughing too, and after a minute they’re almost in tears.

Eventually they’re calmed down enough for Harry to say what he actually meant to say before Louis opened the door. “Okay, so am I gonna show you around, or what?”

Louis sighs and nods. “Yeah, I guess you’d better before Cher maims you or worse.” He gets up and grabs his keys off the desk, then pauses to stretch. His shirt rides up and Harry allows himself to watch the muscles in his abdomen go taut as long as he can without salivating.

“Um, yeah,” Harry swallows. “Well, actually, Cher loves me. It might not seem like it, but you could say I’ve got her wrapped around my finger,” he waggles his eyebrows.

He means it as a joke, but he doesn’t feel like laughing when Louis says, “I can see why,” and scratches Harry’s head affectionately. He sort of doesn’t feel like breathing either, but in the next second Louis’s getting the door open so he figures he ought to at least stand up and attempt to lead the way out of the building.

“Right then,” he says as he joins Louis in the hallway. “Shall we?”

 

\--

As it happens, Louis doesn’t really need that much help getting around.

He’s been to America a handful of times before, he explains, and can obviously speak English well enough. On the little tour Harry gives him, they stop a number of times to say hi to people Harry know and in turn introduce them to Louis. You know, so Harry doesn’t end up being Louis’s only friend on campus. Mostly they’re random acquaintances, classmates from semesters past or that odd mutual Facebook friend, but in the rough minute or two spent with each of them, Louis manages to win them over. Whether it’s a witty well-timed joke or some cool fact about France, Louis knows just what to say to get on the good side of whoever it is. After a while Harry just stops and admires him, charisma leaking out of him as he gets himself invited to at least three parties. A couple times Louis catches him staring and wiggles his eyebrows at him, eyes sparkling.

It’s amazing, really.

Their tour makes its way back to their dorm eventually, as the campus is pretty much just one glorified circle, and Louis already sounds like he belongs there as they climb the merciless five flights of stairs to their floor.

“Well! It figures that the one American college they send me to would have something against _elevators. Merde_.”

“What’s _mayrd_ mean?”

“ _Merde_. Fuck, shit, damn, crap on a stick, what have you.”

In a few days, the rest of Louis’s things come in and Harry’s helping him unpack everything when there’s a knock on the doorframe and when they look up, Zayn and Liam are standing in the doorway.

“Oh! Hi,” Harry grins dopily from his spot on the bed where he’s currently folding Louis’s shirts. He actually hadn’t seen much of the two of them since Louis moved in, and finds that he missed them.

“Hi, Harry,” Zayn smiles warmly. Liam waves from where he’s draped across Zayn’s back. Considering that Zayn smells like cigarettes and is in a particularly good mood, and Liam is being all sleepy and clingy, Harry guesses they had a good shag or something not too long ago. Last year the two of them kept dorm sex at a minimum overall, but at the beginning of the year it’s understandable for them to go a little overboard since they spend the whole summer across the country from each other. “We thought you might be in here,” Zayn explains, glancing over at Louis and then back at Harry.

“Harold!” Louis chirps after a moment of silence. He glances between Zayn and Liam. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your handsome friends?”

Zayn grins at the compliment but Liam, in his typical over-possessive way, curls his arm protectively around Zayn’s waist. Harry giggles and gets up from the bed, going over to Louis so he can usher him over to Zayn and Liam by the small of his back. He doesn’t miss the way Louis melts a little into his touch, although he tries.

“Louis,” he says. “This is Zayn and Liam. Zayn is from New York, Liam’s from Texas. They’re my best friends here, and they’re also disgustingly in love, so don’t be surprised if their presence induces vomit,” he says with a cheeky grin. He pats Louis on the shoulder. “And this is Louis. He’s the exchange student from France.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Louis says with a warm smile that makes Harry feel squishy.

“Hi,” Zayn says, reaching out to shake Louis’s hand.

“Same to you,” Liam says, shaking his hand as well.

“Right!” Louis claps his hands together after a moment. “If we’re gonna exchange pleasantries, we might as well do it while unpacking the mess that is my life.”

So the four of them get started helping Louis fully set up in his room. Harry finishes folding and putting away Louis’s clothes as directed, and Louis finishes hanging the rest of his clothes in the closet. Zayn and Liam don’t do much because they’re pretty much useless when they’re together, kicking Harry off the bed so they can curl up together and whisper and giggle to each other.

While chatting, the four of them cover all the bases. Louis tells them about where he’s from and the student exchange program, they explain that Niall’s doing the same thing in Ireland right now, and although Skype and FaceTime have been a godsend they miss their Nialler terribly.

Louis inevitably asks the “how you met” question to Zayn and Liam.

“I love this story,” Harry gushes from his spot on the floor, discovering different ways he can wear the snapback he stole from Liam’s head. Currently it’s on his elbow.

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “What, you mean you’re not an adorable side character in it?”

Harry flushes but shakes his head. “Nope. Zayn and Liam are juniors, and they met when they were freshmen. I’m a sophomore,” he explains, ducking his head when Louis pointedly quirks the other eyebrow. Harry’s often told he’s younger than he looks.

“Yeah, we took Nialler and this one under our wing last year. Little baby-faced buggers didn’t have a clue,” Zayn remarks fondly from where he’s seated in Liam’s lap.

“They’d be dead without us,” Liam mumbles. He hasn’t perked up in energy much since entering the room. Zayn must have really missed him.

“Heeey,” Harry whines, pouting impressively. Zayn blows him a kiss and he instantly brightens back up, blowing a kiss back.

“Um, well,” Liam starts, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to think of where to begin The Story of How Zayn Met Liam. “Zayn and me were put together as roommates freshman year, on this floor actually, and, well...”

“We hated each other,” Zayn finishes.

“No! Well, yes. We kind of did,” Liam agrees. “It was kind of my fault, really. I was a right shithead,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Still are,” Zayn says, then takes Liam’s hand from his neck and kisses it. Liam smiles fondly and rests his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder.

“It just wasn’t a good fit at first,” Liam continues. “We were just so different. Zayn’s so artsy and cool and just so open about everything, including his, uh, sexuality, which at the time I had a...problem with.”

“How ironic,” Louis grunts. Zayn, Liam, and Harry chuckle. Harry probably chuckles a little more than necessary.

“I come from a pretty...conservative family, so I was kind of a dick about it. About a lot of things, actually,” Liam sighs.

“Then he fell madly in love with me,” Zayn grins smugly.

Liam flicks him in the shoulder, but nods. “Pretty much, yeah. I think I kind of did a little bit from the start, which was probably why I resented him so much. Like, he was so open with himself and who he was and I just couldn’t be. Because of my family and all.”

He looks a little sad at that, and Harry remembers that Liam’s family still doesn’t know about him and Zayn, and it’s something that the two of them struggled with a lot last year, too. Luckily, they go to school miles and miles away from Texas, so they can kiss and hold hands in public around campus and not worry about it.

“Eventually he learned how to not be a dickhead, we became sort of friends, and then one day while we were doing homework he jumped me,” Zayn chimes in with a grin. “And now here we are.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “It didn’t happen exactly like that, but...yeah, here we are.” Liam smiles up at Zayn and kisses his shoulder. Zayn just beams down at him.

“I can see what you mean about the vomit thing,” Louis interjects after a pause, followed by several gagging noises that have the four of them in a pile laughing, and then some sort of pillow fight ensues, most likely instigated by Zayn. It ends with the four of them agreeing to meet up for dinner in an hour, and that’s that.

Louis seamlessly becomes a part of their lives.

He meets the girls at dinner that night: Jesy, a senior dramatic arts major from New Jersey; Leigh-Anne, a senior elementary education major from Connecticut; Jade, a junior musical theatre major from Massachusetts; and Perrie, a sophomore music education major also from Massachusetts-- the same town as Jade, actually.

“We went to the same school for _years_ ,” Perrie elaborates mid-chew. “But we had never met until we ended up being roommates last year. It was like, ‘Hi, I’m Perrie!’ ‘I’m Jade, where are you from?’ ‘No way, me too!’”

“I’m sure we saw each other around at school and stuff before, but I was in the year above her, so not really,” Jade continues, pausing to take a sip of her root beer. “I was mostly into all my theatre stuff all the time so I didn’t have much time for friends outside of that, if I’m being honest.”

Perrie nods in affirmation. “She was, like, a prodigy or something, and I was just that weird girl who had a new hair color every month and dressed like a hippie,” she absentmindedly twirls a strand of her hair, which is now a platinum blonde.

“Shush now,” Jade giggles, drawing Perrie closer so she can pet her head. “I was _not_ a prodigy. I probably saw your purple hair in the hallway and got jealous.”

Harry watches all of this from his seat between Louis and Jesy, a fond smile on his face. He might have a thing for hearing stories about the cute ways his friends met. He loves the girls something fierce, loved them as soon as they had their first floor meeting last year and they had each taken turns complimenting his curly hair. Perrie’s like the baby of her little family, just like Harry is sort of the boys’ baby. Well, Niall too, when he’s in the country, but Harry’s younger anyway.

(He doesn’t like to play favorites, but he thinks he loves Perrie the best because they’re in the same class and she helps him pick out outfits and lets him take snacks from her room.)

Perrie and Jade were put together as roommates last year, same with Jesy and Leigh-Anne. and they decided to do the same this year. Jesy had actually been thinking about transferring schools because in her sophomore year it still hadn’t felt like she belonged at the school, but all of that changed when the four of them got put next to each other.

They have all of these tiny coincidences (Jade and Perrie going to the same school, for instance; they all have majors in music or drama-- except Leigh, but she’s a music minor; Jesy and Leigh-Anne both went to the same theatre camp as kids; Perrie and Jesy have the same middle name; Jesy has an older sister named Jade) that make it seem all the more like fate. It’s like they’re long-lost sisters or something.

He tells all of this to Louis, the two of them huddled over a plate of fries, while Jade and Perrie coo to each other across the table. He tells Louis about how Perrie befriended Zayn in one of their art classes last year and Zayn practically acted like the father of a newborn baby. You would think she had him wrapped around her finger, the way he would bring her tea when she was sad and gave her relationship advice and helped her with homework he didn’t even understand. Even now, whenever Perrie brings a boy (or a girl-- she and Harry also have that fluid sexuality thing in common) back to the dorm, it’s like Zayn has a shotgun in his hands when Perrie introduces them. One time Zayn let her put a platinum blonde streak in his quiff, and he kept it up for a whole semester. Liam would probably get jealous if it weren’t for the fact that he absolutely adores her too and often invites her to their room for cuddles. It’s quite adorable, really.

“Did you and Niall ever invite her over for cuddles?” Louis asks in a low voice to probably avoid being overheard, but Harry shivers a little.

“No,” he giggles. “If we did that Niall’d probably find some way to kick me out. He’s always thought she was cute.” In a brotherly-sisterly way, or a maybe-if-we-were-both-drunk way (Niall likes Jade the best anyway), but Harry wants to see where Louis is going with this

“Do you?” Louis counters, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry purposefully bites his lip, acts like he’s contemplating it. Hopes Louis is looking at his mouth. “No,” he decides. “I like girls, but I like boys better,” he clarifies, even though he knows Louis didn’t ask.

Louis smiles at him brightly, as though Harry’s just told him what his favorite color was instead of implied _something_ (he’s not exactly sure what), and scratches the curls behind his ear appreciatively. Harry leans into it, practically purring, and is that normal for someone you’ve just met a week or so ago? Then again, he can’t help that he kinda has a thing for people touching his hair.

“Good answer,” Louis murmurs a moment later, when Harry’s almost forgotten about it. Louis then launches into a conversation with Jesy and Jade about the theatre program (Harry recently learned that, as credits go, Louis would be a senior this year. His major is musical theatre, just like Jade), probably so that Harry _can_ forget about it.

He doesn’t, though.

\--

“Do I _have_ to do this, Harry?” Louis asks a few weeks later, nervously fixing his fringe in the full-length mirror on Harry’s door.

“Yes,” Harry quips, typing his login information into Skype.

“But I don’t even _know_ him,” Louis whines, plopping himself dejectedly on Harry’s bed.

“That’s the point,” Harry explains for the third time that day. “This is how you _get_ to know him.”

Louis doesn’t say anything and Harry looks over  and he’s giving quite the pout, perching his chin in his hands and batting his eyelashes at Harry. Well, shit. If he wasn’t before, Harry might be a little bit gone now.

“ _Lewis_ ,” he warns, getting up from his desk chair to pull a squirming Louis up to his feet. “If you’re gonna be friends with Zayn and Liam and the girls and _me_ especially, you’ve gotta be friends with Nialler too. It’s sort of a package deal,” Harry giggles, booping Louis on the nose. Louis smiles but just looks down at his feet, seemingly not convinced.

“Why’re you so nervous?” Harry asks, wishing Louis would look back up at him. He doesn’t like when he and Louis aren’t on the same page because in the last few weeks it hasn’t happened often. He also prefers situations where he can look in his blue, blue eyes to situations where he can’t. He’s also never seen Louis seem so unsure of something before. “It’s just Niall.”

Louis looks up this time, to roll his eyes and huff dramatically. “It’s not _just_ Niall. It’s _Nialler_ , everyone’s _Nialler_ who they miss terribly and sounds like the greatest person you lot have ever met. He’s important to all of you and...” Louis bites his lip and glances at the ground again. He’s grown small and quiet again. Harry decides he doesn’t like this version of Louis. He likes the loud version that doesn’t let anyone forget he’s in the room.

He also didn’t realize how important meeting someone important to Harry was to Louis. It pulls at him a little bit.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Louis asks.

Harry promptly punches Louis in the stomach (lightly).

“Ow!” Louis squeaks, rubbing his belly, although Harry is 100% sure that didn’t hurt. “What was that for?”

“For being silly,” Harry answers, reaching out to rub his hands comfortably down the sides of Louis’s arms, if only to stop him from fidgeting so much.

“M’not being silly,” Louis mutters.

“You are,” Harry says firmly. “First of all, Niall is going to love you. That’s not even an issue. You have the stamp of approval,” he grins.

“Is that some kind of American slang,” Louis deadpans.

“It means that me, Zayn, Liam, and the girls all really love you and Niall knows that so as far as he’s concerned he already likes you,” Harry explains. “And if he doesn’t, he can screw off because I like you and that’s all that matters,” he finishes off with another grin, and finds that Louis is doing the same.

“You’re right,” Louis sighs. “I am being silly.”

“Yup,” Harry nods.

“Of course he’s gonna love me. It’s _me_ ,” Louis says, running his fingers through his fringe.

Harry huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes. There’s the Louis he remembers. “Yup,” he repeats, pulling Louis to his desk by the hand. He pulls Niall’s desk chair up next to his so Louis can sit there if he wants. Louis sits halfway in his lap instead, arms wrapped around his neck, and Harry can’t say no to that, can he?

The thing is, Harry’s found in the last couple of weeks that he’s never wanted to touch someone all the time so badly as much as he wants to touch Louis. And the other thing is, it seems like Louis feels the same way about Harry. They’re just constantly touching, brushing hands when they walk (if Harry’s not giving Louis a piggyback ride), in a pile on top of each other in the lounge, arms thrown around each other’s backs, legs tangled together at dinner.

Harry’s not afraid to admit to himself that he wants to touch Louis in other ways too, but they haven’t exactly crossed that line yet. He also might be a little afraid to admit it to anyone other but himself.

He reaches around Louis and finishes setting up Skype. He sees that Niall is online on time and quickly clicks the video call button. The call rings and in a few moments they hear a microphone crackling and the screen is filled with a grainy Niall lit by a computer screen. A little box in the corner shows a grinning Louis and Harry.

“Hello, boys!” Niall yells far too loudly, waving wildly at the camera.

“Hi Niall, we can hear you just fine, no need to shout,” Harry giggles.

“Oops,” Niall chuckles sheepishly.

“Niall, this is Louis. He’s the exchange student from France,” Harry begins right away, patting Louis on the shoulder.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Niall greets Louis, wiggling his eyebrows.

Louis barks out a laugh. “Pleased to meet you,” and he doesn’t sound nervous at all. Either Harry is a great pep talker or Louis is just a good actor. He’d like to believe the first one. It also speaks well to the meeting that one of Louis’s pet peeves is when people try to speak French at him when he meets them (“And then they ask me what _snails_ taste like!”), but Louis seems to be genuinely charmed.

“Yeah, yeah, _enchante_ and all that,” Niall says, nodding eagerly. Louis laughs again, and Harry can’t help but laugh with him, happiness bubbling up in his chest because his two favorite people the world have just met and it’s only been ten seconds but it’s been a really good ten seconds.

“How’s Dublin then, Niall?” Harry asks, eager to catch up with Niall and whatever hell he’s been raising overseas.

“Fucking _amazing_ , man,” Niall gushes. “Everyone’s just having a great time all the time, and the food is great, and the beer is _great_ , and the girls are beautiful. It’s like fucking freshman year of college, but _better_.”

“That’s great, Niall!” Harry says earnestly. “We all miss you so much, though.”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall sighs sadly. “I miss you guys too. Having you all here would make this all perfect. I’d never wanna leave.”

“Well, you’d better come home _eventually_ ,” Harry teases, casting a sad glance over at Niall’s empty side of the room. He misses stumbling back into the room drunk off his ass with Niall right beside him, trying to tuck each other in because they wanted to take care of each other, giggling the whole time until one or both of them passed out.

“I will, I will!” Niall assures him. “After I’ve blacked out drunk enough times to forget I even have a _home_ , of course,” he chuckles darkly.

The three of them dissolve into giggles again until Niall asks Louis about himself, and where he’s from, and they cover all the bases like they did back in Louis’s room with Zayn and Liam the first week of classes.

Speaking of Zayn and Liam, twenty minutes into their Skype call the two of them barrel into Harry’s room yelling Niall’s name, tackling each other to see who can get to the desk first. It ends with the four of them in some kind of pile across the two chars Harry set up, Niall cackling hysterically.

The five of them carry on this way, chatting and catching up and mostly joking around with each other, until the girls come by to grab them for dinner (in the middle of Louis complaining about how much he “absolutely cannot stand” his roommate Nick). They squeal when they see Niall, and there’s ten minutes of them taking over the computer, making kissy faces at Niall and giggling while Niall blows them about a million kisses and promises to punch any guys (and girls, Perrie adds) who touch them the wrong way as soon as he gets back.

The girls pull Zayn and Liam away for dinner eventually, and Niall’s about to go out with some of the other exchange students, so they’re getting ready to sign off until Niall says, “Hey Louis, would you mind if I just talked to Harry for a minute? Y’know, roommate to roommate.”

Louis and Harry exchange a confused look. “Uh..yeah, of course,” Louis says, getting up to leave. Louis shoots Harry another confused look before he shuts the door and he just shrugs. He’s not worried, because chances are Niall’s probably just gonna tell him some embarrassing story about a crazy night at the pub and then make him swear not to tell anyone (which means Harry will tell anyone and everyone). Then again, it was kind of weird, even for Niall.

Harry just sits there at his desk for a minute, staring at Niall, who’s looking at him curiously and folding his hands in front of him.

They carry on silently until Harry says, “So what’s up?” the same time Niall blurts “So how long have you two been fucking?”

“Wh..” Harry takes a second to process. “...What do you mean?”

Niall throws his head back and groans. “Oh, c’mon! Don’t play stupid with me. I’m talking about you and Louis.”

Harry feels himself flush. “I’m not..we’re not...we’re not _fucking_.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “I said don’t play stupid with me.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Niall stares at him for a long, hard moment and then gasps. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re not fucking?!”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like I said, no.”

Niall practically deflates, leaning across his own desk to put his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this. My one talent in life is being able to tell when two people are fucking.”

Harry sighs, considers telling Niall _again_ how good he is at other, more important things, like playing the guitar and throwing great parties and being a good friend, but decides to just let Niall ride this out.

“I mean,” Niall huffs. “I _totally_ called Zayn and Liam.”

“Not true!” Harry interjects. “That was me.”

Niall waves a hand dismissively. “No, no you called that they were secretly in love or whatever. Which they were, of course, but _I_ knew they were _fucking_.”

“Whatever,” Harry sighs, losing interest in the argument. “No, Louis and I are not fucking, is that all?”

Niall stops lamenting and looks at Harry again, a glint in his eye that Harry definitely doesn’t like. Or maybe that’s a piece of dust on his computer screen.

“But you _want_ to be fucking,” Niall says, a wicked grin spreading on his face.

“What?!” Harry sputters. “N-no, I don’t. I never said that.”

“Yeah you do,” Niall is somehow grinning even wider. “You’re blushing. I can tell.”

“No m’not,” Harry mutters, pulling his hoodie up over his face so Niall can’t see that he is most definitely blushing.

“What I don’t get is, if you both clearly want to jump each other, why aren’t you?” Niall asks.

Harry peeks out of his hoodie. “No one said anything about _Louis_ wanting to...y’know.”

“No one had to,” Niall says. “It was obvious, mate. Everytime he said something funny he glanced at you to see if you thought it was funny, too. Which you did, because that guy could make a joke about paint drying and you would laugh for days.”

Harry doesn’t try to argue that, because it’s kind of true, but still. “That doesn’t--”

“There’s also the fact that the two of you didn’t stop touching for more than two seconds the whole time. And the fact that you look at each other like you both hung the fucking moon. It’s ridiculous, really. Worse than Zayn and Liam.”

Harry bites his lip and thinks. He looks towards the closed door, wonders if Louis’s waiting for him on the other side of it. “I mean, yeah, Louis is...” Harry trails off for a moment. “I thought it was sort of one-sided.”

Niall snorts. “No way, Harry. That guy wants you just as much as you want him. Both of you are just too scared to make a move.”

“You think so?”

“Trust me, I know these things,” Niall says with a wink. “You’ve just gotta go for it, yeah?”

Harry nods. “Yeah.”

Niall smiles, proud of himself. “Yeah. Listen, I gotta head out, but keep me updated?”

“You know I will,” Harry giggles. “I miss you, Nialler.”

“I miss you too, Hazza. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry smiles sadly, and hits the end call button as Niall enthusiastically waves goodbye.

Harry finds Louis waiting outside the room, just as he suspected, checking his phone and chewing on his fingernails. He looks up at Harry and quirks an eyebrow curiously. “What was that about?”

Harry just shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing. Just something about a girl he met. Let’s go to dinner,” he says, grabbing Louis’s hand and pulling him along. He looks a little confused at first, but by the time they get down the stairs he’s melted into Harry’s touch and is begging for a piggyback ride, even though the dining hall is like, two feet away from their dorm.

Later, as Louis feeds him french fries across the table, Harry thinks back to what Niall said. _You’ve just gotta go for it, yeah?_

Harry smiles to himself. _Yeah._

\--

“Wait, so you two _aren’t_ already fucking?”

Harry throws his head back and groans. “For the last time, _no_.”

Perrie throws her hands up. “Okay, sorry, sorry. It just seemed like common sense, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“And by everyone you mean Nialler,” Zayn points out from his spot by the window he’s smoking out of. Technically, it’s a strictly smoke-free campus, but fuck if Zayn cares. More importantly, fuck if Cher cares.

Harry rolls over on his stomach so he’s feet are resting on his pillow and frowns at Zayn. “Nialler’s smart."

“True,” Zayn agrees, expelling smoke from his mouth. “But just because _Niall_ thinks you should be fucking, or whatever, doesn’t mean you _should_ be.”

Harry thinks about that. “Shouldn’t we be?”

“Only if you both want to,” Perrie says. She walks over to Harry’s bed and says, “Up.” Harry dutifully sits up so she can sit down next to him, then promptly lays down again so her head is in her lap. She sighs, but in a second she’s combing her fingers through his hair. “Like I said, don’t make a move or anything unless you want to. And if _he_ doesn’t want to, you stop immediately or I won’t speak to you again. Consent is sexy.”

“I know, I know,” Harry grumbles.

“So, do you want to?” Zayn asks. “Like, do you actually want to be with Louis? Or do you just wanna do it because it ‘makes sense’?”

Harry chews his lips. Thinks about Louis and his eyes and his laugh and the way Harry wants to be around him all, all the time. “Yeah. Yeah, I actually do.”

“Duh.”

“We know.”

“Heeeeey,” Harry whines, sitting up and pouting at the both of them. “I thought this was about me not doing what everyone else thinks.”

“It is,” Perrie says. “But that doesn’t change the fact that everyone and our mothers know you’re completely gone for him.”

“Completely and obviously,” Zayn snickers into his cigarette. “Worse than me and Liam, really.”

As if on cue, Liam appears in the open doorway, grinning. “Someone talking about me?” he asks. He’s wearing a white tank top and basketball shorts, and he’s sweating, giving his muscles a decent shine. Harry wants to roll his eyes, honestly.

“Hi,” Zayn says from the window as Liam goes to meet him. He breathes out smoke slowly in Liam’s direction in what was probably an attempt to be sexy. It works, naturally, and Liam is suddenly pressing Zayn up against the wall by the window, pressing butterfly kisses into his neck. “You’re sweaty,” Zayn giggles, flicking his cigarette butt out the window.

“Mmm,” Liam mumbles, nosing at Zayn’s collarbone. “So?”

Zayn honest to god shivers a little and then, naturally, they’re snogging by the window, grabbing at each other like they haven’t seen each other in days. It’s like this most times when Liam comes back from the gym.

Meanwhile, Harry and Perrie are making vomiting sounds on the bed, covering each other’s eyes with their hands. Except Harry’s giggling and Perrie’s peeking out between Harry’s fingertips because, as tiny and innocent as she (and Jade, Harry will add) may seem, she’s secretly totally a pervert.

“Mom, Dad, please,” Perrie groans.

“There’s no way we’re worse than those two,” Harry says. Perrie just shrugs, but Zayn and Liam part and turn towards them.

“Who’s worse than who?” Liam asks, furrowing his brow.

“We were just talking about how Harry and Louis aren’t together and how they’re worse than us,” Zayn quickly explains, resting his head on Liam’s shoulder.

Liam blinks. “But, I thought you guys were already hooking up?”

At this point, Harry doesn’t even have the patience. He just shakes his head no.

“Oh,” Liam blinks again, then shrugs. “Well, in that case, you two are _so_ definitely worse than me and Zayn.” He plants a kiss on Zayn’s head, who purrs. Probably.

“Are you serious?” Harry sputters. He’s met with blank stares. “ _C’mon_. Louis and I aren’t _that_ bad.”

There’s a pause. Perrie hums, twirling a piece of her hair. Harry rolls his eyes and flops himself onto the mattress.

“Look, Harry, all we’re trying to say is that we think that if you like Louis so much and Louis seems to like _you_ so much, you should just make a move, you know?” Zayn continues, wrapping his arms around Liam.

Harry sighs. “Yeah, Niall said that, too. I’m just not sure what to do about it. I don’t wanna just, like...jump him.”

“What, you mean like Liam did me?” Zayn quips.

“Shut up,” Liam grumbles, but he’s grinning.

“Louis is special, you know?” Harry continues. “He’s...different.”

Perrie’s nodding. “So you want it to feel right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry nods. “I just don’t know how.”

Perrie hums in agreement, clicking her tongue. “Well, if it’s meant to be, I think the right moment will just happen when it happens. Just be patient, I guess. You’ll know when you know,” she says, scratching Harry on the head.

Zayn giggles fondly. This is one of those times where Zayn is stupidly proud of Perrie’s eerie wisdom and it shows. “Yeah, Haz. Just let this thing with Louis ride itself out.”

“What about me?” a voice says from the door. All four of them whip their heads around to look.

Louis is standing in the doorway, bookbag strewn across his shoulder, smiling expectantly at them. He looks pretty much perfect, of course.

Perrie and Zayn hide giggles. Liam clears his throat. Harry just wants to die.

“Uh...” Harry tries. It shouldn’t be this hard to think of some lame white lie, but his brain has turned to mush, as it tends to do when Louis is around.

“Harry was just talking about how he’s gonna invite you to his for Christmas break. You know, since you can’t exactly go home or anything,” comes Zayn’s voice breaking through the silence.

...What.

Perrie’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and she bites her lip. Liam looks at Zayn like he’s missed something. Zayn smirks. And Harry just wants to die, still.

“Wait, really?” Louis asks. Everyone looks to Harry.

Well, now. Harry can’t just say “haha no not really Louis, you aren’t welcome in my home for Christmas,” can he? “Zayn was just kidding, we were actually talking about how stupid I am for you, d’you wanna make out?” So he goes with the only thing he can say.

“Yes, really. My mum said you could and everything.”

The way Louis lights up makes it almost worthwhile. His eyes get cute and crinkly and his whole body seems to lift, but then he sighs. “That’s really nice of you, Harry, but I couldn’t impose on your family like that. I’m fine staying here for break, really. Thanks, though,” he finishes with a little smile, but it seems sad.

Harry squints at him, and considers this.

Zayn has dug Harry a hole and pushed him headfirst into it. Louis has so conveniently offered him a shovel.

But really, how can he let Louis _not_ come home with him? It’s Christmas, for Christ’s sake. Louis is all the way in America on Christmas, his favorite holiday (as Harry has come to learn), and he doesn’t even get to spend it with his family, the one thing he loves most in the world (as Harry has also come to learn). Harry knows how many times Louis has gotten into moods whenever he particularly misses his mum and sisters. He thinks about how much he’d miss Gemma and his mum and Robin if he was away for so long. Louis already had to be alone on campus for Thanksgiving.

Louis’s offered him a shovel, but instead Harry decides to pull him right down into the hole with him.

“Bullshit,” Harry says, grinning slowly. He reaches his arms out and Louis comes to him dutifully. Perrie scooches over a little so he can sit next to Harry, but Louis opts to sit halfway in his lap anyway.

****“You are not staying here for Christmas,” Harry declares. “I’m forbidding it.”

Louis shakes his head. “Harry, I ca--”

“Nope,” Harry stops. “It’s a law. I’m making it a law. The law is unbreakable.”

Louis giggles and tries hiding it by burying himself in Harry’s neck. “Harold...”

“ _Lew_ -is...” Harry whines. “C’mon, please?”

Louis takes a long breath and sighs, drawing it out. Eventually he mumbles something.

“Hm, sorry, what was that?” Harry says, milking this for everything it’s got.

“I said you’re a tit,” Louis retorts instantly, though his smile gives it away.

Harry gives him puppy eyes for a moment. He’s not as good as Liam, but he is very proud of his pout, thank you very much. And 9 times out of 10, it works.

“Okay okay, _fine_ ,” Louis grumbles. “But are you sure it’s really okay with your mum?” he asks, concerned again.

This time, it’s easier for Harry to lie. “Of course it is! My mum would love to have you.”

“Okay,” Louis finally settles, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder with a soft smile on his face.

Harry exchanges a look with Perrie, Zayn, and Liam. They’re all grinning, the shits. Harry will kill Zayn later, mark his words.

But first he’s got to call his mum.

\--

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

“Mum!”

“Harry Edward Styles,” Anne says slowly. “You cannot call me a _week_ before you’re coming home for Christmas to tell me you’re bringing a friend home. You just can’t.”

“But _Mum_ ,” Harry pleads into the phone. “He has nowhere else to go! For the whole month he’s gonna be on campus all alone.

“Darling, I understand, and I’m sorry, but this is just too short notice to make it work. It’s a whole _month_ Harry, I’ve already got you and Gem coming home. Maybe if you had mentioned this before, I don’t know, Thanksgiving, we could’ve--”

“That’s just it, Mum!” Harry says. “He’s already spent Thanksgiving here by himself, and he tries telling us that he’s fine with it, but he’s not. You can just see it. He misses his sisters and his mum and...” he trails off and takes another approach. “What if I was across the ocean for a year and had nowhere to go for the holidays? Wouldn’t you want some nice, beautiful mother like yourself to take me in?

“Is this your way of buttering me up?” Anne asks flatly.

“Maaaaybe,” Harry giggles. “Is it working?”

“Harry...”

“ _C’mon_ , Mum,” Harry is close to full-on whining into the receiver. “His _birthday_ is on _Christmas Eve_. Isn’t this kind of thing what Christmas is all about?”

Anne pauses for a long moment, then sighs. “Oh, alright.”

“Yessssssss!” Harry cheers, allowing himself a fist pump.

“ _But_ , but, but,” his mother interrupts him. “If you two leave _any_ kind of mess and don’t clean up after yourselves, or get into any kind of trouble in the house, I swear on--”

“It’ll be _fine_ , Mum. I promise.”

“And you’ll help out with dinner every night, and keep your room tidy,” she adds.

“We will, Mum,” Harry swears.

Anne tsks into the phone, but it sounds fond. “Alright, then. Leave it to my son to preach the Christmas spirit to me.”

Harry grins wide before he realizes she can’t see it. “Thank you, Mum. Louis is so great. You’ll love him.”

“Oh, Louis is it?” His mother asks. “Isn’t that your new boyfriend Gemma was telling me about?”

Harry slaps his forehead. “ _No_ , Mum.”

“Do I need to make sure you two sleep in separate rooms?”

“Oh my god, _Mum_!”

 

\--

Louis is, as Harry expected, even more nervous to go home with him for the holidays than he was to Skype Niall. Harry gets it, because Niall may be his best friend, but this is Harry literally bringing Louis home to his family. He gets that Louis is nervous meeting people important to Harry, which pulls on Harry’s heartstrings more than he’d like to admit. Harry isn’t worried, though; his family loves him, and he loves Louis, so according to the laws of nature and science, his family will love Louis too.

Harry, as is typical when it comes to things concerning Louis, is right.

Louis is so polite and grateful the whole time, constantly thanking Anne and Robin for their hospitality and offering to help cook or clean or wrap presents or fold laundry or anything at all. Anne is hooked from the start as soon as Louis walks in the door and asks if he should take his shoes off.

Gemma thinks Louis is a riot, and resolves to torture Harry this break as much as possible. Every time Harry turns a corner, Gemma is showing Louis Harry’s baby pictures, or telling Louis about that _one time_ in seventh grade Harry cried on Halloween because the power went out while he was watching _Poltergeist_. Or, she’s “sneaking” Louis off to smoke a joint on the roof. “Sneaking,” because Harry’s not stupid.

Usually, though, she’s giving Louis post-college advice, as she’s been out for a year, and even though they’re from different continents Louis is always telling Harry how helpful she’s being. Louis’s plan after he’s done is to go back to France and try to make it as an actor, which has always been his dream, but if it doesn’t work out (Harry knows it will, from all the times he’s helped Louis with some monologue or scene or other from his acting classes) he wants to maybe be a drama teacher, which he would also be excellent at, if you ask Harry. Then again, you could ask if Louis would make a good trapeze artist and Harry would probably say yes.

Robin takes well to Louis too, always pulling him aside to talk about footie. Louis used to play back home, and was quite good at it actually, but his passion for theatre had ended up being bigger. He keeps up with it avidly though, often kicking everyone off the lounge tv back on campus so he can watch a game. Match, whatever.

Seeing his family fall for Louis so quickly makes Harry’s heart glow, but he can’t help but feel a bit neglected. After all, Louis is _his_ student exchange friend from France, not theirs (and Harry is apparently five now). He misses Louis giving him all his attention, which Harry admits is stupid and childish, but it sucks going from having Louis frequently flocking to Harry when he enters a room and showering him with affection while practically ignoring anyone else in the room, to only hanging out with him a few times a day. Not to mention that a few days after coming home Harry started working part-time at the bakery again, which meant even less time spent with Louis.

One day Harry’s curled up on the couch watching old _Project Runway_ reruns after work when Louis lumbers downstairs, looking blissed out and kinda tired, so he’s probably just smoked one with Gemma. He plops down next to Harry and snuggles under his blanket with him, helping himself to some of the potato chips from the bowl on Harry’s lap.

“My sisters watch this show back home,” Louis says, chewing. “My Mum DVRs it and they all line up on the couch like little ducks and watch it with her.” He pauses then adds, “I prefer _France’s Next Top Model_ , personally.”

“Gemma likes _America’s Next Top Model_ ,” Harry points out roughly. “Maybe you should go watch it with her.”

“Maybe I will,” Louis shrugs and glances at Harry. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope,” Harry lies, popping the p.

Louis glances at him a moment, eyebrows raised, but he shrugs again and rolls over a little so he can snuggle into Harry and rest his head in the crook of his neck. He smells like weed, which never bothers Harry particularly (Zayn and Louis smoke all the time on campus) but this time it just reminds him of how Harry had just been sitting down here by himself while Louis was getting stoned on the roof with Gemma, and he finds himself tensing up uncomfortably.

Of course Louis notices and he sighs abruptly, sitting up and grabbing the remote off the coffee table to pause the show, despite Harry’s audible protests. “Okay, what’s wrong?” Louis asks, looking pointedly at Harry once he’s set the remote back down. “Clearly there’s something the matter.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry lies again, reaching into his bowl for more potato chips, but Louis takes those away, too. “ _Louis_.”

“ _Harold_ ,” Louis parrots, leaning back down onto the couch but propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at Harry. “I can tell when you’re upset, and I can tell when you’re lying, so what is it?”

Harry says nothing, doesn’t really know what to say without seeming selfish, and just shrugs, staring at the tv.

Louis bites his lip and pauses before asking in a smaller voice, “Did I do something wrong?”

And Harry honestly can’t have Louis talking him to in such a tiny non-Louis voice, so he breaks, sighing. “ _No_ , no, honestly, it’s me. I’m...I don’t know, I guess I just kinda miss spending time with you.” He looks down at his chest. “You’re always helping Mum out or talking to Robin or hanging out with Gemma. Which is great, and I’m happy, but...” Harry shrugs.

Louis’s been watching him with a soft expression, but at this he slowly slides into a wicked grin. “You’re _jealous_.”

“What? No, I’m not. I just--”

“Hazza’s mad that Louis’s not giving him enough attention,” Louis teases in a sing-song voice, poking Harry in the side.

Harry giggles at the contact. “Lew- _is_.”

Louis snickers and continues poking Harry, first in the leg, then in the arm, then in the cheek. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for neglecting you.”

Harry shrugs. “You haven’t. I’m just a big baby.”

Louis shrugs too and simply says, “Maybe, but you’re my big baby,” before climbing on top of Harry, practically straddling him.

“What are you--”

“You just need some TLC, right? Is that what you American kids call it?” Louis says, carding his hand through Harry’s curls. Harry shivers, suddenly struck with the image of what Louis would look like _actually_ straddling Harry, naked and sweaty and grinning as he rides him.

“Lou...” Harry warns. He has no idea what’s happening.

“Shh. Be quiet,” Louis says, and Harry instantly shuts up. He should be concerned with just how quick he is to follow Louis’s commands, now and always, but right now Louis’s leaning in close to his face and he can worry about it later. They’re only inches apart, and he wonders if this is what Perrie meant when she talked about “the right moment” to make a move.

He considers it, psyches himself up to maybe do it, until Louis snaps and starts tickling the very life out of him.

“L- _Louis_! Stop!” Harry shrieks with laughter.

Louis’s laughing too, maniacally, as he tickles Harry mercilessly. Harry tries to fight back but Louis’s got him pinned down, and he knows just where Harry’s the most susceptible.

Soon Harry’s breathless, screaming, “I give up! I give up! Please, Lou!”

Cackling, Louis stops and releases his grip on Harry. He looks down at him, grinning. “Feel better?”

Harry pauses, takes a breath, grabs Louis and flips them right over so he’s on top. “Better,” he quips.

Louis groans. “I should’ve known. You dirty liar.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not a liar,” he says, ducking down to nuzzle his head into Louis’s neck. “I did miss you.”

“Missed you too,” Louis sighs, petting Harry’s head. “Sorry for not spending more time with you. Your family’s just so lovely. I kind of hate you for bringing me here because I really don’t want to leave ever.”

_So don’t_ , a voice in Harry’s head says. “I know,” he says instead. “My family is the best.”

“ _You’re_ the best,” Louis corrects him.

Harry smiles happily and raises his head to peck Louis on the cheek. He sits up and smiles down at Louis for a second before Louis reaches up and twists his nipples and then they’re practically wrestling on the couch until Anne calls them in for dinner.

The right moment will come along, Harry tells himself.

 

\--

It presents itself sooner than Harry expects, as it happens.

It’d been about two weeks or so since Harry and Louis came home, the week of Christmas, actually, and therefore Louis’s birthday. The whole week Harry’d been picking up double shifts at the bakery, rising early and getting home late, with flour in his hair and frosting caked in his fingernails (ha, caked), too tired to do anything but fall asleep on the couch with Louis and the tv humming in the background.

Harry had not forgotten Louis’s birthday. Far from it, actually. He’d spent all week putting together a playlist on iTunes that he wanted to put on a mixtape for Louis. It was a thing he did for his friends, make them a mixtape for their birthday. It’d hit off quite well last year, and some of his friends this year had hinted that they were making their own for his birthday.

First, he makes a giant playlist of any song he had that either reminded him of the friend, thinks the friend would like, knows the friend liked already, and songs that Harry liked that he just wanted to share. The stack of cds he has in his room can burn only about eighty minutes of music per cd, so then he has to narrow the playlist down. That is, without doubt, the hardest part, because the first draft of Louis’s mixtape playlist ended up being six hours long. After all that, Harry meticulously puts the songs in order. Every mixtape needs a good opener, so he picks one and then he puts the rest of the songs in order based on how well each ending flows into each opening. Then he burns it, writes all over the disc with colorful sharpies, puts it in a sleeve, and writes the tracklist on the back.

Harry takes the mixtape process very seriously. Especially considering that, this time around, it’s for someone like Louis.

Unfortunately, Harry’s working twelve hours at the bakery on Christmas Eve, from the early morning well into the evening, so he’s not gonna be able to spend much time with Louis on his birthday. So, the night before (“Christmas Eve Eve,” Harry had snickered. Louis had told him to shut up), after he and Louis have “gone to bed” (Harry only pretended to fall asleep on his futon until he heard Louis snoring peacefully in his bed-- speaking of, it had taken Harry a full three days to convince Louis to let Harry take the futon so Louis could sleep in a real bed), he quietly descends to the kitchen and gets to work.

He strings white christmas lights all along the tops of the walls and above the dining table. He writes “HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOUIS” on every writing surface available: on the chalkboard his Mum keeps for to-do lists and, when Harry and Gemma had been kids, chores; the dry-erase whiteboard calendar, the grocery list sticky notes on the counter; and the little letter magnets on the fridge (he uses the letters he didn’t use to draw a heart around the message). He leaves the tea stuff out on the counter and leaves a note for his Mum or Robin or Gemma (or _anyone_ but Louis) instructing just how Louis likes his tea in the morning.

Finally, he tapes little French flags anywhere that looks pretty. Just to remind Louis that, even though he’s technically not home, he’s loved more than he knows.

Then, he goes to work.

\--

It’s going on 8pm. Harry’s exhausted. Fatigued, even. He never wants to even _see_ a cupcake ever again.

The bakery’s been closed for about an hour now, but Harry’s been baking the batches of muffins and cookies for tomorrow morning’s rush. The bakery’s always open from 10-2 on Sundays and holidays. Thankfully, Harry’s not working at all tomorrow.

He’s just started prepping for his _final last_ batch of coffee cake muffins when he hears the bell on the front door ding. He sighs, wiping his hands off on his apron as he leaves the kitchen and pushes through the double doors into the bakery.

“Hi, I’m sorry, we’re closed--” he’s starting to say before he sees Louis leaning against the register, smiling.

“Oops,” Louis says, jerking a thumb towards the CLOSED sign on the door.

“Hi,” Harry replies, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

Louis shrugs. “You parents took Gemma out to some family Christmas party thing. I got bored.”

Harry frowns. “Didn’t they invite you?” When his mother had called the bakery earlier to tell him his family’s plan for the night, Harry had asked her to invite Louis so he wouldn’t feel alone on Christmas Eve, and on his birthday no less.

“They did, but I said no. I kinda just wanna stay in tonight,” Louis explains, coming around the counter to meet Harry with a crinkly smile. “Thanks for my thing in the kitchen.”

Harry beams at him. “Of course,” he wraps Louis up in a tight hug. “Happy Birthday, Lou.”

“Thanks,” Louis grunts, muffled by Harry’s arms. “I feel old.”

Harry pulls apart from Louis, pouting at him. “You are not _old_. You’re only twenty-two.”

Louis scoffs. “Says the nineteen year old.”

“Shh,” Harry plants a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t forget, I’ll be _twenty_ in two months. Now come help me in the kitchen.”

“Haz, _no_ ,” Louis whines as Harry drags him by the hand into the kitchen. “You know I can’t cook for shit.”

Harry shushes him again. “I know that. Just watch, then. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Louis grumbles and rolls his eyes, but he sits himself up on the counter and crosses his arms, kicking his legs back and forth as he watches Harry work.

Harry preps the muffins and is about to mix all of the ingredients in a big bowl when he realizes that he forgot to line the tin with paper cups. “Shit,” he mutters. “Louis, would you mind whisking this while I line the tin? I forgot.”

“Uh...” Louis looks unsure, but he hops off the counter. “Sure.”

“Thanks,” Harry absentmindedly kisses Louis on the cheek and crosses over to the muffin tin.

A minute passes where Harry’s just lining the tin, and then Louis’s voice comes out of the silence. “Um...” he pauses. “How do...how do you whisk?” he asks.

Harry glances over at Louis and sees him standing there, helplessly holding a whisk and staring down at the bowl like it wants to eat him.

He bites back a laugh. “You don’t--you don’t know how to whisk?”

“Shut up,” Louis says, looking put off. “I told you I can’t cook for shit.”

“Aw, no, it’s okay,” Harry’s grinning, but it’s really sort of cute. He comes to Louis’s side. “Okay, so, whisking. You just...” You just _do it_ , really, but saying that won’t help. “Just kinda, stir it? Sort of?”

Louis nods and tries it, but in vain. He’s got the angle all wrong, and he’s acting like he’s afraid of it.

“Um, here, let me...” Harry slides up behind Louis and rests his head on his shoulder, wrapping one arm to hold the whisk with Louis, one arm to rest on Louis’s waist. He whisks the batter with Louis, showing him the right way to hold it, how to go in full circles until the batter is completely mixed.

“Just like that, yeah?” he says softly once it’s done.

Louis nods, but doesn’t say anything. Harry realizes then how closely pressed together they really are. Harry’s tracing circles into Louis’s hip with his thumb, and he’s been breathing in Louis’s ear, his chest pressed up against his back. There aren’t any sounds but their breathing and the hum of the refrigerator.

This is different, Harry realizes. They’ve touched like this before, in various ways, but this is different. Something about it is different.

He puts the whisk back in the bowl, gently slides it away, and slowly turns Louis around. He needs to see his face right now, needs to see what it’s saying. Harry rests both hands on Louis’s hips, Louis’s arms on his shoulders. He looks up.

The first thing he sees is Louis’s eyelashes delicately sweeping his cheek as he blinks slowly. There’s a flush on his cheeks, Harry notices, and he flits his eyes down to Louis’s lips, wet and slightly parted.

“Haz,” Louis whispers, so quiet Harry barely hears it. His clutch on Harry tightens, and he looks desperate, his searching blue eyes willing something, _anything_ to happen.

It hits Harry right then. This is it. This is the moment.

So Harry leans in and kisses him.

It’s not perfect by any means, the angle’s a bit fucked, but just pressing Louis’s lips to his own is enough to set Harry’s skin on fire. He comes closer, adjusts himself and tries again. This time it’s better, a proper kiss. Harry moves his lips against Louis’s, who’s soft and pliant and maybe a little bit hesitant under him, and after a moment Harry’s not sure what to do, but then Louis seems to come back into himself and he surges himself forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and making the tiniest noise in the back of his throat, like he was surprised by himself.

The noise Louis makes, quiet as it was, startles Harry and the moment catches up with him: he’s kissing Louis, and Louis’s kissing him back. Harry’s grip tightens on Louis’s waist and he kisses him harder, more urgently, like this is the only chance he gets. But he knows, as Louis’s hands move to his neck and Harry’s gently running his tongue along Louis’s bottom lip, that this is absolutely not the last time he gets to kiss Louis Tomlinson. This is too good, the way Louis is pressing against him, their noses rubbing together, the sound of their breathing in tandem. Harry knows right now that he won’t ever not want this.

The kiss turns from languid and new to heated as Harry finally gets his tongue in Louis’s mouth, curling it tentatively, wanting to map Louis’s mouth out and, weirdly, claim it as his own. In a way, he feels like Louis’s already his.

Louis makes another sound at this, tiny again, but needy, and he nips down on Harry’s lip as he curls a hand in Harry’s hair. This flips a switch in Harry as it dawns on him that he is really, really kissing Louis and he gets to _touch_ him now, really touch him. He grunts and decides to hoist Louis onto the counter. Louis squeaks at this, and Harry snickers into his mouth until Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and rolls his hips, and he groans instead.

Resolving to really follow through with this whole touching Louis thing, Harry runs his hands along Louis’s hips, the curve of his spine, his neck. His neck, Harry realizes, and promptly removes his mouth from Louis’s to latch onto the spot right below his jawline, licking and nipping as Louis pants into his ear. Harry kisses down Louis’s neck, trying to pick the best spot to right and truly mark Louis up. He gets to Louis’s collarbone just as Louis rolls his hips again, slow and sinful, and he gasps and bites down on it. Louis hisses and Harry immediately smooths over it with his tongue. He decides he loves Louis’s collarbone, although he probably already did before.

They carry on like this, kissing and biting and sighing, until Louis’s rolling his hips again, cruel little circles that’ve got Harry grinding down, jeans already too tight and hot. Harry’s kissing along Louis’s jaw line when his hand dips beneath the hem of Louis’s shirt, fingers grazing at his stomach, and Louis breaks away, gasping.

“Harry,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy and making Harry’s toes curl. “We, um...” he swallows, Harry watching the bob of his adam’s apple. “We can’t exactly do this in the middle of a bakery.”

“Why not,” Harry mumbles, dipping back down to nibble on Louis’s shoulder. He doesn’t miss the way Louis shivers at that.

“Because...” Louis sighs, pausing to find words. “If we keep going like this I think we’ll be breaking some kind of health code.”

It’s Harry’s turn to sigh now, bending down and resting his forehead on Louis’s chest. He considers this. Here he has Louis, squirmy and panting and damn near irresistible, right here in his arms. There’s not much of an argument against that, if you ask Harry. But then again, the oven is preheated and the muffin batter is sitting right there, unfinished.

He sighs again and looks up at Louis, who’s looking down at him with wide, dark eyes, biting his lip and smiling sympathetically. He so badly wants to touch him again, but Harry knows if he starts again he probably won’t ever stop, and he has a bakery to close. “You’re right,” he grunts instead, and regretfully pushes himself away from the counter, away from Louis, and towards the muffin tin.

As he starts pouring the batter into the baking cups, he allows himself one glance at Louis. He’s still sitting on the counter, leaning back on one hand and fixing his fringe with the other, watching Harry with his ankles crossed. He’s still biting his lip, his beautifully utterly kissed senseless lip, and Harry can feel his gaze rake up and down Harry’s body.

He chuckles. “Stop that.”

Louis stills, but grins. “Stop what?”

Harry turns back to the muffins. “Doing the thing where you make me want to touch you when I can’t.”

He hears Louis giggle and then pause, and when Harry looks back at him again Louis’s got a pot in front of his face. “Now you can focus on your baker duties,” Louis says, his voice muffled and metallic.

Harry barks out a laugh, wants to make a good comeback, but just goes back to finding an oven mitt so he can slide the muffins in the oven.

He’s wiping down the counters and tables with a washcloth, humming under his breath, when Louis pipes up again. “Do you do that a lot?” he asks.

“Well, I hope so. You’re the one who brought up the health code,” Harry jokes as he cleans around the sink.

“No, I mean. The other thing.”

Harry pauses and takes a breath, carefully hanging the washcloth on the faucet before turning around to lean against the sink and face Louis sitting across from him. The pot’s sitting in his lap now, and there’s apprehension in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry answers, softly. “I kinda want to touch you all the time, yeah.”

Louis’s unreadable for a second, but then he smiles. “Yeah. Me too,” he says.

Harry grins and crosses to him, taking the pot out of his lap so he can plop his head there instead. “Okay, muffins are in the oven, timer’s going so they’ll be fine by morning. Do you wanna get out of here?”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “God, yes.”

Harry chuckles and helps Louis down from the counter, keeps one hand against his lower back as he flicks off the lights in the kitchen and the bakery itself as he leads them out of the building.

Finally, he’s taking his bakery key out of his pocket and locking up outside when he feels Louis pressing up behind him. “Lou,” Harry giggles admonishingly as he struggles to get the key in the keyhole.

Louis’s not laughing, though. “C’mon,” he whispers, leaning into press kisses into Harry’s neck.

Harry shivers and _finally_ gets the key in, twisting it and locking it shut. “Okay,” he sighs, expecting Louis to release him so they can make the walk home.

Instead, Louis starts nipping at his neck, taking Harry by the hips and pulling him tight against him. “Lou,” Harry says again, clearing his throat to mask his voice shaking.

“Mmm,” Louis responds, trailing his nose up the side of Harry’s neck before switching to the other side and ducking down to suck at Harry’s collarbone. He rolls his hips again, slow and steady, and, no, Harry isn’t going to survive this way.

“Lou,” Harry says again, trying not to let Louis hear how breathy he’s gotten. “Home. A few blocks away.”

Louis groans, but he finally lets go of Harry after one last kiss to the back of his neck and Harry grabs him by the hand and hauls the two of them back to his house as fast as he can.

(They only stop once to make out against a telephone pole, until they’re grunting and grinding down on each other again before realizing they’ve still got one more street to cross to Harry’s house.)

A soon as the door’s shut Louis’s got Harry pressed up against it, and they’re right back to breathing hotly into each other’s mouths and practically clawing at each other, only they’re so distracted and overwhelmed (and on Harry’s end, _so_ turned on) the best they can do is get both of their shirts off before Harry regains some control and somehow leads them to the couch, because as hot as it is, he doesn’t really want the first time Louis and him get each other off to be on his family’s front door.

And, God, yeah, they are really about to get each other off. Harry can hardly still believe it, that he actually gets to touch Louis like this, and Louis _wants_ it too, if the way he’s shamelessly trying to buck his hips up to meet Harry’s as Harry pins him down to the couch is any indication.

“God,” Harry breathes out as he finally grinds himself down on Louis, their zippers catching, and it’s the first word he’s said since they got back. “ _God_.”

“Yeah,” Louis moans, wrapping his slim fingers around Harry’s neck and rising up to kiss him. “Yeah, been thinking about this.”

Harry stills then, for a moment, as Louis continues attempting to get some friction. “Really?

“Yeah,” Louis says, and that seems like that’s it, but then Harry starts grinding again and Louis keens before continuing. “ _Yeah_ , god, fuck Harry, you’re so-- _shit_ , I wanted to have a wank in your bed last night, thinking about you.”

And, that’s--that’s--

Louis looks up at Harry through his eyelashes, bites his lip a little and looks a little hesitant, like maybe he’s crossed a line in the heat of the moment, but Harry just moans and grinds down harder on Louis.

“That’s so hot, Louis, oh my god,” Harry babbles, an incoherent mess. Louis is now smirking smugly as Harry essentially humps him, so Harry ducks down and swipes his tongue over one of Louis’s nipples.

“Oh, fuck--” Louis gasps, arching his back into Harry’s mouth as Harry nibbles at the other one. “Harry,” he whines. “Harry, _do_ something.”

And Harry can’t just say no to that, can he?

As quickly as he can with a Louis Tomlinson squirming half naked underneath him, Harry fumbles to get his jeans undone. Louis gets the idea and goes to undo his own, and pretty soon they’ve both got their cocks out.

“Shit,” Louis grits out when he sees Harry’s dick, leaking at the tip and curling towards his belly, and starts pumping his own. “You’re big.”

Harry huffs out a laugh and shyly ducks down to capture Louis’s mouth in a kiss. “Shush,” he says. “It’s only ‘cause you make me so hard, baby,” he adds in his best cheesy porn star voice.

Louis burst out laughing. “Oh, my god. I can’t believe you. Here we are, attempting a successful sexual encounter in your living room, and you’re--”

Harry chooses that moment to align their cocks and roll his hips down slowly, and Louis cuts off with a gasp. “Nevermind,” he mutters, and resolves to take both their cocks in one of his hands and begin pumping them together. And, hell yeah, Harry can get on board with that.

There’s something about watching Louis’s pretty, dainty hand jerking them both off at the same time that drives Harry wild, and he wraps one of his hands around Louis’s to get a better angle.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes when he looks down at both their hands wrapped around their cocks, beginning to pump faster. “Your hands.”

Harry just groans when he notices how his hand almost completely covers Louis’s. They both begin to fuck into each other’s fists faster, harder, writhing on the couch. “M’not gonna last long, Lou.”

“S’fine,” Louis grunts. “Surprised I lasted this long, to be honest.”

Harry grins into the crook of Louis’s neck as they speed up more, the angle just right. The only sounds in the room are the sounds of Louis and Harry panting, their slick cocks sliding together. “Been waiting so long,” Harry mumbles into Louis’s ear, then, as an afterthought, “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

That’s what makes Louis come, moaning Harry’s name as his cock spurts into him and Harry’s hands. His back arches up off the couch as he screws his eyes shut and gnaws at his bottom lip until it’s over. Harry doesn’t blink once, wants to see it on replay everytime he closes his eyes until the day he dies.

“God, fuck, you’re so hot,” Harry groans, fist flying on his cock after he releases Louis’s from his grip. He’s got one arm braced beside Louis’s head as he furiously jerks himself off, watching Louis come back to himself with a languid smile.

He can feel himself nearing the edge, until Louis takes his hand and lazily brings two fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking them clean as he watches Harry.

“ _Fuck_ , Louis...” he groans as he spills into his hand. Some droplets land on Louis’s stomach and his mind nearly goes blank. When he comes down, he sighs and it’s all he can do to not just collapse on Louis, but he does have some manners. Louis pulls him down for a cuddle in a second anyway, kissing him deep and slow.

“That,” Louis says after a minute, between kisses once they’ve both composed themselves, “was the best thing ever. I can’t believe we’ve wasted this whole semester _not_ doing that.”

Harry giggles. “Me neither. I may be a changed man.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but grins. “Shut up.”

“No,” Harry grins back. He’s very happy.

Louis stares up at the ceiling, musing. “Just imagine what it’ll be like when you actually get to fuck me.”

And if Harry’s spent cock gives a sympathetic twitch at that, Harry doesn’t mention it.

They go back to exchanging slow, giggling kisses for a few minutes before Harry pulls away to say, “We should probably clean up.”

“Noooo,” Louis protests, clinging to Harry tighter.

Harry nuzzles Louis’s neck with his his nose. He knows the feeling. He wouldn’t mind staying like this forever, really. “I don’t think my parents would exactly appreciate walking in on this. Plus, I think we’ve soiled the couch.”

Louis groans but begrudgingly agrees. They redress in silence and Harry gets some wet towels from the bathroom. They wipe each other off under their shirts, giggling, then wipe off the couch. Thankfully, they don’t leave any stains.

They change and wash up for bed, and tonight there’s no reason they shouldn’t both nestle under Harry’s covers, curled close together. They lay like that for awhile, staring fondly at each other, and Harry’s nearly drifting off when he realizes he’s forgotten something. “Stay right here,” he whispers to Louis as he slips out of bed, ignoring Louis’s sleepy protests.

He comes back a minute later with the mixtape, a little red bow attached, and gently stirs Louis, who’d dozed off. “Happy Birthday,” he whispers as he slides back into the covers and nestles up against Louis.

Louis takes the mixtape carefully, studies both sides with big eyes, reads the tracklist slowly. “Haz,” he says eventually, and there’s something in his voice that makes Harry’s heart squeeze. “Harry, this is-- _Haz_ ,” is all he can say before surging forward and peppering Harry’s face with kisses.

Harry giggles and lets him do it for a minute before pulling away, nervously. “Listen, um...” he begins. “So, obviously, this is kind of about more than sex for me...and, like, if you want this to just be like a one time thing, or nothing serious, that’s fine with me, but like...I really care about you, Lou,” he trails off. He actually hadn’t planned the _after_ part of this.

Louis watches him with careful eyes for a moment before rolling his eyes completely and kissing Harry on the cheek. “If you don’t think we’re not gonna do _that_ again, and again, and again, and another time after that, then you’re not as clever as I thought.”

“Heeey,” Harry whines.

“And also,” Louis continues, taking the red bow from the mixtape and sticking it on Harry’s forehead. “I care about you, too. Like, a lot. God, it kind of scares me a bit how much,” Louis huffs out a nervous laugh.

“Me too, Lou,” Harry says, then pauses. “Lou, this could get very complicated...”

“I know that,” Louis cuts him off. And it’s true. At the end of the year Louis will be going home. “But I don’t care.” He lowers his voice to almost a whisper and says, “I think we have something kinda special, Haz.”

Harry’s heart is floating. “God, me too, Lou,” he leans in and kisses Louis firmly. “Me too.”

Louis sighs and kisses him back happily. “This is happening, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry kisses him once more, hard, a promise. “Most definitely.”

They settle in to go to sleep then, and as Louis refused to be the little spoon (which is fine by Harry, if you ask him), the last thing Harry hears before drifting off is Louis whispering against his neck, “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Harry smiles, eyes still closed. “Merry Christmas, Lou.”

 

\--

The next morning, when Louis and Harry come down for breakfast with their hands entwined and purple marks standing out quite obviously against their skin, Anne quickly and firmly arranges separate bedrooms for both of them, and begins enforcing a strict open door policy “at all times for the rest of the break.”

As Gemma snickers into her palm and Robin blushes furiously into his coffee, Harry and Louis don’t even bother trying to argue.

Besides, in two weeks’ time they’ll be on their way back to campus. And until Niall comes home, Harry’s got a single.


End file.
